


Battle Scars: (Hercules Mulligan/Fem!Reader)

by jennthejerk



Series: Hamilton x Reader Fan Fics [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Badass combat scenes, DIE BRITISH SCUM, F/M, That sounds so violent dear god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 02:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennthejerk/pseuds/jennthejerk
Summary: Hercules comes home from the Battle of Yorktown to many unprecedented surprises.





	Battle Scars: (Hercules Mulligan/Fem!Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my Tumblr under the same name! Seriously, guys. It's fun... I hope.

“Please come home, my love.” Your voice was soft, trying not to cry. Hercules looked pained as he wrapped his defined arms around your quivering figure. You were trying not to fill Hercules with guilt for fighting in the revolution. He was so passionate about fighting for independence from Britain and you couldn’t take that away from him.

“I promise, my darling. I love you,” Hercules cupped your face in his hands, pressing his lips to yours. “I love you too, Hercules. Now go be a hero.” You smiled sweetly to mask the anguish you felt, the spark in his eyes undeniable as you voiced your support. The two of you shared one last passionate kiss and with that, he was off to war.

 

~~~~~

 

That was three years ago. It was 1781, only days after the Battle of Yorktown, and Hercules was granted permission to return home. He dreamt of you on many nights and it kept him alive, giving him a reason to keep on. He loved you with everything, and was impatient the entire journey home.

When he entered your home for the first time in a long time, he let out a yell about the victory. Hearing no reply or even footsteps coming towards him, he raised an eyebrow. “Y/N? Darling, are you home?” Nothing but silence answered him.

Hercules grew worried, unsure of where you would be instead of home. He began to race around the house and calling your name, scared of what he might find.

But fear is not what he felt when he found a little boy, barely knee-high in height, waddling around the halls. Hercules observed the boy, recognizing the sparkling eyes that gazed at Hercules in wonder. “This couldn’t be my child, could it? She would have told me if she were pregnant or- No, she wouldn’t. Not my Y/N.”

A moment after, a young woman came rushing out of a room, chasing after the little boy and noticing Hercules being present. “Mr. Mulligan, sir, I have an important matter I must briefly discuss with you. Y/N requested it.”

This couldn’t be good.

“Who are you and whose child is that? And what are you doing in my house?!” Hercules began to yell at the woman, causing the little boy to begin to whimper slightly. “Mr. Mulligan, please. The letters will explain everything, but you won’t be able to read them if little Alexander here isn’t happy.” Hercules raised an eyebrow.

“Go to your bedroom and open the first drawer to the left of your desk, it will explain everything. I’ll take care of him a while longer to give you some peace.” With that, the woman retreats with Alexander to another part of the house.

Hercules storms to the bedroom he shared with you and his eyes are set on the desk and the desk only. This lack of regard for what could have been in his way caused him to fall on his face, tripping on a wooden panel on the floor.

This realization made the man show a bittersweet smile. You constantly complained about that particular piece of flooring but never wanted him to fix it, saying that Hercules had more important matters to concern himself with. Eventually it became an inside joke between the two of you.

As he rose from the floor, it seemed to look as if there was a reason it was so elevated. Forgetting about the desk, Hercules rips up the floorboard and staring up at him is a small wooden box. Pulling it out of its hiding place, he opened it and emptied it of his contents onto your bed. Inside he saw letter after letter of his handwriting. Those seemed to be only his letters that he sent to you while he was in the war.

Disregarding those for a moment, his mind remembered the desk. Opening the drawer, he saw an envelope that looked to be stained with something… Was that blood?

Hercules tore it open and pulled out a letter in your elegant handwriting and fear ran through his veins as he began to read.

“To My Dearest, Hercules,

If you’re reading this, you know that I’m not at home. You know that a woman is here with a child. That is Angelique, a childhood friend of mine. The child is ours, darling. He’s your son. I took the liberty to name him after a man you and I both knew well.”

Wait, how did you know Alex? He never told the guys anything about his private life besides that he had a wife, but never said your name or introduced them. He told you stories about them in some of his letters, but that’s different.

“The way I knew Alexander Hamilton was that he was the leader of my infantry battalion. You read that right, my dear. I staged as a man to fight in the war. I was there with all the men and some other women who were willing to put their lives on the line for our country. For two years I hid this from you and for that, I’m deeply sorry.

I made sure that our little Alexander was in capable hands while I was gone. I waited until he was ten months old to leave for the war.

This letter would have been burned had I returned home. But seeing as you are reading this right now, I sadly did not make it back from the battlefield.

I love you and our son with everything in me. Take care of him and raise him to be as good a man as you always have been.

Yours Eternally,  
Y/N Mulligan

PS: If you look under that cursed floorboard I always tripped upon, you will find all of our letters. I love you.”

Hercules couldn't believe his eyes. He wanted to deny this with everything in him, but he knew he couldn't. The tailor broke down into sobs, forgetting about everything except for the loss of his wife, the one with so much courage and bravery it could never be contained into a domestic lifestyle.

He loved you, he had you, he lost you.

\------------HAPPY ENDING-------------  
Word Count: 2620  
A/N: By the way, Y/M/N means “your man name,” aka your alias name as a soldier.

You were free. Finally free.

The British troops had taken you prisoner on what you believed to be the twelfth day of fighting at Yorktown. You had no clue why they were still taking prisoners, they were going to lose anyways. But alas, you were still held captive by the Redcoats, who poked and prodded you for information that you would take to the grave.

Days later, you were still tied to the same chair you had been brutally shoved into the moment you were hauled to the British camps. You weren’t fed; what little food the British had was reserved for their high-ranking soldiers and officers. Thanks to your fellow Revolutionaries’ efforts, their supply lines were cut, causing drastic increases in the death toll of their ranks.

Being tied to a chair gave you plenty of time to think, to reflect on your life and wonder if you had done the best you could have with what you earned. Nothing was given to you in any stage of life that you could remember, not one thing.

You had to earn the hand of your husband through your mind and your education; Hercules could never be bothered with the standards of elegance and poise and housewife skills other women are scrutinized by, and you weren’t either. It was one of the multitude of reasons that he admired you: that you knew everything women were told to learn by society, but never let those definitions of a good woman define you.

You had a wit up to par with his and for this reason, he never introduced you to his friends. He didn’t want to risk you besting him in front of the men and making him into a laughing stock. They knew he was married and they frequently asked about you, but he never gave too much away.

Hercules wasn’t a sourpuss about your intelligence; though you couldn’t pay him to admit it, he actually enjoyed the moments when you outwit him.

It was a form of bragging about his taste when you proved yourself to be mightier than a man. Where others would be shocked and taken aback, he would proudly place a kiss on your cheek and announce to the world that you belonged to Hercules Mulligan at the top of his lungs.

Hercules.

You pondered where he may be and what he may be doing. He may be fighting on the battlefield alongside his brothers in arms or he may be in the British camp, collecting information on their plans in the heat of the battle.

You remembered the son waiting on the two of you back home.

Hercules didn’t know about him yet, you had no vague idea as to how to break the news to him. Merely months after he left for the war, your stomach began to show a telltale bump and you were overjoyed at having a child with Hercules, but having a child put a large bump in the road on the way to smuggling yourself into the Continental Army.

You enjoyed motherhood in the brief time you experienced it. Despite him being nearly a year old, you didn’t have a name chosen for your son by the time you left for the war. Leaving your child with a close friend, you told her that you will mail her the name you pick for your son when it comes to you.

That day came merely weeks after you received a musket and uniform. During the Battle of Monmouth, a man you came to know as Alexander Hamilton had saved your life when a Redcoat was about to make a Revolutionary shishkebab out of you with his bayonet. Alexander had pulled you out of the man’s reach, his bayonet impaling the Redcoat through his neck.

You never forgot this moment. This man had enabled you to survive one more day, to bring you one step closer to going home to your son and your husband at the end of the war. You owed this man everything, and naming your child for a man who unflinchingly saved your life felt like an obligation.

The sounds of war that were raging outside of the tent you were confined to, tied to a chair and starving, brought you out of your reverie. In your captor’s haste to rush to the battlefield earlier that morning, he had forgotten to gag his prisoner and it was a relief to be able to move your mouth after it being gagged for hours at a time.

You vaguely remember counting this as the nineteenth day at battle; you had kept track of the days by how many times the Redcoats visited you to gain insight to the plans of the American troops. The offer to be freed upon giving intel was given three times a day: once at dawn, once at noon, and again at nightfall. Every time you refused and spat a nasty insult, you received a kick or a punch anywhere they could access.

Your offer from the dawn was given what seemed like forever ago, but you had no means of being sure. The only way you knew they asked you the second time at noon was from eavesdropping on several conversations between the men who held your life in your hands.

As your thoughts became incoherent and meaningless, you came to the realization that you hadn’t slept in what felt to be weeks. It’s never been safe to sleep during war, but here in the enemy’s tent you were granted more safety than you were before becoming a prisoner.

After debating on what you should do, you finally relent to dozing off for a little while. Your body has brought you so far and deserves to rest. Resting your heavy eyes, you let yourself gain back some of the many lost hours of sleep.

 

You were brought back to consciousness by someone jostling you to and fro, your chair teetering on its legs as you were moved by the unknown force.

“Wake up, Y/M/N! Y/M/N, please don’t be gone! We have to hurry! Wake up!”

You could recognize the voice: Alexander. Wait, what was he doing here? You were still in the British camp, bound and held prisoner. “General, what are you doing here? Are you aware that we are in the middle of the enemy camp and we could die at any time if a Lobster were to come in?”

Your General scoffed as he began to work off the ropes that held together your wrists. Once finished with those, he moved to your ankles that were tied to the legs. “That doesn’t matter at the moment, the war is won! We need to get you out of this dreaded camp as soon as possible!”

The war was won. You weren’t sure if you heard him right, but you did.

We won.

“Damn, the person who tied these must know what they’re doing because this is seeming to grow more difficult by the second!” Alexander grew frustrated with your ropes as he fiddled with them in a feeble attempt to untie them. As he was bent down, you glanced up from where he was working and saw a Redcoat enter the tent.

“Hello, prison- oh look what we’ve got here, another pile of Revolutionary scum!” Oh shit. A Lobster had walked into your tent, just as you predicted, and you were stuck. The Brit was taking his time, all but strutting into your tent like a mating bird, an evil smug on his face. Alexander didn’t seem to hear the enemy’s entrance, too occupied with your bounds to notice.

Knowing that acting out of fear rather than logic would end both yours and Alexander’s lives, your head whipped around violently until you saw the blade nestled in Alexander’s uniform. Twisting to the side as much as your body would allow, you reached for the handle of your salvation.

The only thing that could save you now was the brain Hercules admired you for, and you would not let him down.

Not bothering to adjust your hold on the handle or even take the time to properly aim, you let the blade fly towards the Lobster that believed he had the upper hand. You put every ounce of willpower you could muster into that flick of your wrist and arm, hoping it would meet its target.

It paid off with the satisfactory sound of gurgling and a few gentle thuds on the ground mere feet away from Alexander. You watched as the wounded man took his final breaths, choking on the blood that was leaking from the wound in his throat.

Curious as to what the noise was, Alexander turned around and was gobsmacked to see a body that certainly wasn’t there before littering the entryway, his blade in the man’s neck.

Alexander then realized that you saved his life. For once the man was speechless and unsure of what to say, so he simply retrieved his blade from the man’s neck and proceeded to cut the rest of your ropes in haste.

When the last bit was cut, you immediately rose from the chair and stretched your sore limbs. “Thank you, General. I feared that I would not make it out of this camp alive, but you kept a child from losing a parent with your actions. I am forever grateful to you.” You spoke solemnly, your gratitude oozing from your every word like honey.

“It is you I should be thanking, Y/M/N,” Alexander replied. “And I have told you many a day, simply Alexander would suffice. My command holds no power in friendship. But you have saved my life and kept my son from being fatherless, and that is a debt I could never repay to you.”

You mulled his words over a moment, the gears turning in your head. “Actually, Alexander,” you began. “There is a way to repay me.”

 

You were back in your tent on the right side of the field, Alexander standing to the side as he eyed you curiously. “What exactly did you need from here?” The question came out before the man could bite his tongue.

“Alexander, there are things you don’t know about me. I will you need you to swear to secrecy what I tell and show you in this tent, is that understood?” Your voice is commanding, the severity of the matters at hand emphasized. With a nod from Alexander, you opened the trunk sitting at the foot of your cot.

Rummaging through for a moment, you pulled out a corset, a gown and petticoat, a cloak, and a pair of shoes. This was the outfit you had worn when you first began the escapade to become a soldier. The memory almost brought tears to your eyes. Oh how blind you were back then to the cruelty of the world, how blissfully naive you were. “Why do you have a woman’s wardrobe in your trunk, Y/M/N?”

You took a deep breath before uncloaking a secret you have kept extremely hidden for years.

“Alexander, I am really a woman. I hid my identity and disguised as a man in order to serve my country alongside the other men brave enough to die for it. Besides my name and gender, I have never uttered a lie to you or to my fellow men, that I swear upon my son. I am married to someone who has served our country well and you probably know him as well.” You felt a massive weight being lifted from your chest at revealing your secret to someone after so long.

Alexander seemed to be taking the news well, a mischievous glint in his eye growing as your words settle in. “Well, what is your real name, Miss?” You prayed to know the thoughts that were running through his brain, but you had no such luck.

“Mulligan, Y/N Mulligan.”

You could see the shock overcome his facial features by the second. “You mean to tell me that you are the wife of Hercules Mulligan?” You simply answered with a nod. “I can see what the man sees in you. You’re a brave woman, Y/N. You are a hero.”

His reaction was one you’d never expect, and it filled you with relief.

“You are the true hero, Alexander, and I hope my son is able to live up to the name I gave him to honor the man who saved my life back in Monmouth. I don’t know if I thanked you for that, but in case I didn’t, consider the name as my expression of gratitude.” You spoke carefully, attempting to express your gratefulness to the man in front of you through your words.

He seemed to be frozen in place. Maybe it was from the awe of being the namesake for your son, maybe for the praise you spoke of him. The world may never know.

Alexander was about to speak once again, but his eye caught a faint glint of silver in the dirt. Picking it up, he handed it to you with tears pricking his eyes. “You need to get yourself home, Mrs. Mulligan. It has been an honor to be your commander. I hope to see you again in the future.”

It was a bullet. The sentiment of the small sphere momentous, a souvenir from the time you dedicated to the United States of America and its freedom.

You smiled lightly, wiping a fallen tear from the man’s cheek. “As do I, Alexander.” Gathering the garments in your arms, you head for the exit. “Safe travels, General.” You salute the man before you exit, far beyond excited to return home to your son and husband.

 

After a long and grueling journey back to your home, you finally made it. You could feel Hercules’s arms wrapped around you in that moment, hear little Alexander’s soft coos, and you weren’t even to the door. You were exhausted, nearly all of your energy was depleted from the war and from the trip and it was finally taking its toll on you.

Nevertheless, you began to run as fast as your legs would carry you when your home came into your field of vision. It would take a lot of readjusting to get back into the swing of wearing dresses and the like, your legs having forgotten the feeling of several layers of fabric that acted as shackles nearly.

You were so close to home, you were itching to sleep in your bed once again. Suddenly, you realized that you had no clue whatsoever as to what was waiting for you back home. Was your husband there? Was Alexander alive? These nagging thoughts pressed you onward, desperate for answers after so long without any.

Panting, you finally made it to your front door. You brought up a hand and began to pound mercilessly on the door, hoping that someone was inside to hear it.

After a moment, you realize your hand made contact with something not-wood. Tilting your head upwards, you realize that in front of you is your husband. Your loving, living husband.

“Y/N, is it really you?” Hercules looked defeated in the eyes but you could see the strength building back up in them the longer you stood in front of him. “Yes, my love. I’m here.” Before you could say anything more, Hercules swept you into his arms and began to twirl you. Your dress was fluttering with the breeze you made, adding a picturesque feeling to the already perfect moment.

The two of you were alive and together, finally reunited in a free country you both made possible.


End file.
